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London Boy | Johnny Mack | The Assassin Part 1

Well here it is London Boy fans, the new and highly anticipated version of Johnny’s ASSASSIN blog ! During Johnny’s trip to Goa, India, he found new inspiration and now feels it best to totally re-write this blog. He has done it in a way that the “London Boy” followers who have read the 1st version, will find this a seem less re-write and he has done so, as always, in his own inimitable style….Enjoy

London Boy Johnny Mack talks of a firm of villains in the 1980's and a resulting assasination

The Assassin Part 1


The story I’m about to tell you happened a long time ago and for legal reasons I cannot divulge what city let alone what country it happened in. However, for those of you who think you’ve guessed it after reading this. I can assure all you Sherlock’s out there that it did not happen here in the UK…or come to that neither did it happen in France, Spain or Holland etc. I think you’re getting the picture now, so any of you wearing a deer-stalker hat, robe coat, magnifying glass in hand and pipe… don’t waste your time trying to work it out okay? Oh’ and don’t email me either because all you’ll get as an answer, is what the old bill would get from me, “No reply.”

The main firm that I had been linked to since I was a kid had no idea that I was devising a plan to get out of this game once and for all. As I’ve mentioned a few times in previous blogs, I couldn’t just up and walk off into the sunset without they’re being any comebacks. So devising a plan was something I kept very close to my chest. Shame really, because there was once a time when I’ll have at least one geezer I could trust enough with all my secrets, no matter what. But now that drugs had hit the criminal scene, it not only changed how criminals worked, it was also slowly changing the criminal in ways that left little room for that honour and respect among villains. However, the team I was using on this work were the best I could muster from a dwindling list of the less from the best. At a time when I hated drug takers apart from the odd joint smoker, I wouldn’t tolerate users. I had walked away from some tasty work because I had found out one of the gang was using. They couldn’t be trusted could they? The old bill knew that only too well because as soon as they got hold of a user, they would leave him to sweat for 20 hours and then interview him. By then he would be like a singing soprano giving up everyone he’d worked with, past and present. I knew two of the lads were having a line or two but they were brilliant at their work and that’s why I tolerated them. But I kept them in the dark about everything so they couldn’t give too much away if caught. Also my escape plan was in action, which meant I was disappearing after this work was completed. That was how I justified having them on board because if it were under different circumstances, they wouldn’t have got a look in.

My share of the dough involved on this work would be enough to put my plan into action. I needed this piece of work to come off because even in my middle twenty’s I knew I was coming to the end of my criminal career. And by ‘The end’ I mean I’ll be either holding up a fly-over or doing a thirty stretch at one of the hate factories (Prisons) if I continued. If there were statistics, which I’m sure there are, they would read that gangsters don’t last too long one way or another. I was now a family man and my priorities had changed since I first joined the firm as a kid, Meaning my family now had to come first. Apart from that I had genuinely come to the conclusion that I had enough of the entire bollocks of taxing and extortion. Old school principles were now changing at an alarming rate; there was now more violence and putting the frighteners on people who just wanted to earn a crust. But regardless of how long it could take, I was slowly putting something together to get my arse out to live a new life as a family man. I got involved with the firm when I was just an impressionable ten-year-old kid. It wasn’t until I was in my middle twenties I realised this game wasn’t for me. So I had to wait patiently and bide my time until I had the perfect plan ready for my exit from the criminal fraternity.

Well, now that’s out of the way let’s get back to the story in hand because it’s a blinder !

Two of the guys on this bit of work had been grafting the pavement with me for about eighteen months. For those of you that don’t know what that means, well it’s a form of highway robbery, a bit like Dick Turpin, minus the musket and horse. Each job we pulled we would pay our standard 20% commission to the main firm for sorting the work out for us. With the rest being ours to do as we wished. Believe me when I say I done a lot of wishing back then that I started to believe that there were fucking fairies. The dough disappeared so quickly that I wondered where it all went. Whatever my take was from a bit of work, it was always never enough to get my plan on the go. I mainly relied on the firm that was supplying us the work to come up with one that paid higher dividends…and this one seemed to tick all the boxes.

The three of us made a formidable team when grafting together, I can honestly say the best team I’ve had the privilege to work with. I was so lucky to have these guys wrapped around me on this one because they were a minority (A rare breed) who still worked to old school principles. We wouldn’t get out of bed for less then thirty grand a piece, that included paying our dues to the firm. No matter how much we got, it never seemed to last us more than six weeks. It was a bit like an addiction where the next bit of work would pay better than the last. Our ambitions were… and I can probably say the same for the majority of active blaggers out there. The next bit of work was always going to be the last job that would become our “Eldorado” (Retirement to the Costa etc)

This work came by associates of the firm we always worked for. Our firm guaranteed me that they were kosher as was the work, so we were to trust them as we did our own team. Our firm were old school gangsters who knew the true meaning of respect. If they tell me someone is okay, then he was, no questions asked. That’s what respect is always about; if I were to question the decision, then that would be classed as being disrespectful. For those of you who have just starting to read my blogs, then I suggest you read them all. In them I’ve explained how respect is gained, so give them a butchers because they make interesting reading.

Getting back to the story, it would be a nice little touch if it went according to plan. In my case this was the best bit of graft since I was involved with that diamond heist back when I was just fourteen. Back then I was far too young, stupid, impressionable and was a prime target to be taken for ride? Amongst all the bad shit that happened to me back then, I learnt a valuable lesson that there would never be a repeat of what went down back then.  (DUNPECKHAM Chapter two THE GREAT DIAMOND HEIST)

For sure our take from this work would last a lot longer than six weeks, as I’ve already said it would be enough to set me up, providing I spent it wisely and stayed away from the pubs and clubs and harebrained schemes.

After my introduction to their trusted contact I alone was briefed thoroughly of the job in hand. Our contact Fred would sort out everything we needed for the work. All work that came to us via the firm was handled very professionally especially when it came to planning. As I have said the guys and I worked with each other really well. They were to know pretty soon what rolls they were to play. Once we all knew what our rolls were we would become one, always watching each other’s backs. As I said earlier it was the other two I had to really keep in the shadows, all because they were users. They were only there for muscle, driving and cleaning up behind us.

Because I was given the work, I was the one in charge. Along with that responsibility I had to make sure our bosses got their share. Also with that given responsibility, if anything went wrong with our team then it was my neck for the chopping block. Up to date we had worked together really well with each of us having the utmost respect for each other. I felt really comfortable working with my pals but not the other two.

Sadly I am sorry to say that my two pals are no longer with us today but this blog will keep their memories alive. None of them died natural deaths, with one being murdered and the other committing suicide…or so they say. So in a way this blog is a tribute to those guys, my real pals who stuck by me through thick and thin. Some of you reading this must think that the way I am telling this story about the men that we may resemble a Special Forces squad. I must admit we did work in a military format that could be contrived as a military operation. Given different circumstances no doubt we would have made one hell of a fighting unit. They say forces personnel while on front line duties treat and look out for one another like family. Each geezer becomes brother, dad and uncle to each other…a real tight family. That was us all right, one big happy family our only difference being, we went round robbing and looting the establishment.

Some of you are probably thinking he’s making a meal ticket out of his criminal exploits. Well I know what I’m about and that is to tell you guys a story based on my life. If I’m milking it, then you think about it because you must be enjoying it, after all you’re the one’s who are reading this. As I have said a few times now I was brought up and taken under the wing of some very infamous people aged just ten, so that’s my excuse. Also at that time I can honestly say I knew no different.

We travelled to a rented place on the outskirts of the town where the work was to be carried out. Apart from our place being isolated it had been well equipped for our stay with transport, food, drink and of course all the tools required for the job.

This bit of work had been put together by the two firms and believe me this was big. To make this work happen and to succeed, both firms had to be involved. I was picked specially for this one because of my abilities to work to a plan and do as I was told. Even though I had a quick temper I was not considered a loose cannon, the type who would forget or disregard consequences. Another reason was that the team I worked with had a lot of respect for me.

With this type of work, for the moment information on what, where and why was limited only to our contact and me. My guys had respect for me by not bothering me with persistent questions. They knew the score that everything was on a need to know basis so therefore trusted my every word. That’s a lot of responsibility to carry around especially with our crowd. For example if I told them a place was safe and it turned out not to be and all hell broke loose, providing I had done all I could then I’ll be okay. However if I had been lazy or unfocussed and the shit hit the fan than it would be my neck for the chopping block. If that happened the last words I’d hear would be, “Sorry about this Macky boy but its only business”

On the second night we were visited by our contact; who called himself Fred (With such an unusual name like Fred, you’d think they would have put a bit more of an effort into it ha ha). Personally I reckon the name Fred was just a bit of criminal banter mixed in to show that we were working with people that had a sense of humour. He brought with him a catchment of weapons including a Shotgun, Uzi 9mm sub-machine gun and three 45’s automatics all with extra ammo. I had asked for half a dozen smoke grenades because they are fantastic for creating a last minute diversion.

We all sat in the main living room with the curtains drawn to a close. Our contact had brought along a slide show of the entire job. Amongst the slides there were a few including one of the prize. More importantly they showed two alternatives escape routes, just in case something went pear shape. I felt a lot more at ease working with professionals. They seemed to have covered everything, including stuff that only had a small chance of causing us a problem.

Having a slide show was the safest way to show and explain because where we were was a quiet little town and us lot driving around looking at the target could get us noticed. So the guys opted for the slide show presentation providing there was plenty of popcorn.

Billy, our up-front come muscle man, was sitting playing with one of the 45’s while waiting for the slide show to start. Bill was a completely fearless head case; the type of geezer who would shoot you in the face if you cut him up in traffic. However to have him on a bit of work with you, he’ll almost guarantee your safety. If you were in a tight spot he was the type to let you get away while he stayed behind to hold the fort. But with people like Billy you had to be able to control him in a way that he did not realise what was happening to him. Over the years I had managed to suss out a way of working Bill whereby he didn’t use too much violence. I hated having to use it while on a bit of work and nine times out of ten we didn’t have to use it. However on some bits of work you’d sometimes come across a hero who’d end up getting a clump with a gun butt for trying his luck. With most, one look at Billy’s threatening mug was enough for them to comply.

Now you have an idea where we are going with this story and I can assure you next week we fire into a head load of trouble.

Stay tuned

Ta-La for now



London Boy – Injustice = Miscarriage Part 2

Well I don’t know who has been anticipating the publication of this continuing story of johnny’s the most this week. London Boy fans, Me, or the Hampshire police constabulary? What I do know is that this second instalment is not to be missed. You also get a word from the London Boy himself, as Johnny introduces personally this week by video. Enjoy…. 


Miscarriage of justice. This happened to Johnny Mack when he was falsely arrested, along with his beloved wife Carol on a a charge of armed robbery.

A life long, a life lost. A story of injustice & it’s consequences. The police in this country and rightly so, possess many powers. However, with great power comes great responsibility !! WHO IS RESPONSIBLE ?

There are slight timing issues with this video and for that all of us at London Boy apologise. However you’ll be glad to know that nothing is lost and the passion for this story to be told and heard still shines through.

There I was, now living on the Island (The Rock) with my family starting afresh and away from crime and drugs. Back in London the false rumour of me being stabbed and dying over in Spain had worked a treat. There was only one person who knew of my whereabouts and that person was family. It was that person who kept their ear to the ground for what was going around on the criminal grapevine. Then promptly let me know the score that my plan worked.

I had no choice but to go to these extreme measures because, me quitting the criminal fraternity wasn’t an option. You see; with regard the firms illicit dealings, I’d been around so long that I knew way too much about what had gone down. Over the years I had witnessed so many things that me leaving would make some of them very nervous. But more importantly if for some reason in the distant future I had decided to go rogue. I would have been in a position to name everybody that was involved in everything. In the firms eyes it would be much safer to run me out to Epping Forest. There waiting for me would have been a pre-dug grave where I would receive my pension award; a bullet to the head.

But of course I would not dream of such a thing because these people were like family to me. I had known most of them since I was that cocky 10 year old that they took under their wings. They taught me everything I needed to know to be able to survive in the harsh world of the criminal fraternity. Included in their teachings was the real value of the word respect and believe me they taught me well because respect, I had plenty of.

But I had broken all the rules by having and hiding the fact that I had a big drug problem. I became paranoid that they would find out about it and if that happened, I’ll be dead in hours of them getting wind of the news. I had been playing with fire back then and knew it only too well. But even knowing what would happen to me if they found out about my problem. My addictive personality was so strong in me that it was beating my will power hands down. I just couldn’t stop myself so it would have only been a matter of time before the shit hit the fan. So when my then wife took my kids away to the rock, it took her doing that to gain the strength I needed to get myself clean.

Spreading that rumour about my death may have worked for most people. I knew the firm wouldn’t have accepted it hook line and sinker. No far from it, because they would have been too sceptical to swallow it straight away. The more time I stayed away off the radar the more they would come to terms with it.

But now I was clean off the drugs and away from the mayhem that crime produces. For the first time in my life I felt alive and free with the added bonus of no more looking over my shoulder. Once I accepted the fact that there was no going back, I tried to live the life of a law-abiding citizen. Though we were skint and living in what resembled a shed where the only heating was a hole in the wall masquerading itself as a tiny coal fire, I was happy. We had 2.2 kids, meaning my youngest son Danny was just a baby. The place was so cold at night that ice formed on the inside of the windows. Some nights we would wheel his cot into the tiny kitchen and light the gas stove just so he could be kept warm.

During the daytime I found myself beach combing and collecting firewood for the fire, real survival shit. The things I would find on a beach especially after a big storm hitting out in the channel was amazing. Some of the stuff was re-saleable and some I would keep for myself. I was now living a life that only a little while ago was totally alien to me. and adjusting to it, I knew would be a huge challenge.

My second autobiography “Landed on the Moon” which is all about my life on the Isle of Wight was named appropriately. Basically because they were the first words to pass my lips when I arrived here on the rock. And don’t get it in your head and think that the book is boring and all about red necks and vegetables because you would be well wrong. Part of this story is published in that book with the highlight of the storyline being me seeing the light that completely changed my life.

I got myself a job at the local shipyard still working under an alias. But because I didn’t have proof of my national insurance number I had to pay at an emergency income tax rate, being one third of my wages. I couldn’t believe I was working 50-60 hours per week for less money then I would spend on a normal night out at a pub back in London. So every penny I earned went on food and coal (Lots of it ha ha) By the end of the winter I had burnt everything that could be burnt from the inside of the shed, doors, cabinets, even the fucking wardrobes. Out in the garden I cut down the whole surrounding 6ft x 3ft hedge, including the apple & plum trees and burnt the fucking lot for warmth. If you are a tree huger then I’m sorry if I’ve upset you by that comment, but where needs be, needs must. But once the summer came along it was a different story. The shed now seemed to take on a different aura because minus that hedge it now had a sea view with lots of sunshine making it a cool place to live.

Cut to the chase after a year or so the local council offered us a top floor three bedrooms flat in a town called Ryde. When I mentioned the location of my new future abode, the locals in my pub pulled long faces and started shaking theirs heads in disapproval. I’m thinking what the fuck is it with my new address that makes these red necks react like this? They go on to tell me that my new flat is situated in a really bad area and on a very bad housing estate that has a very bad reputation. “Scum bags and criminals only get to live there” one local tells me. At that moment in time the very thought of being wrapped around scum bags and criminals almost felt desirable. Since I arrived on the rock I had been wrapped around these local vegetable loving inbred red necks and if I’m to be honest, they were doing my nut in! So when they offered us the flat I thought I would take a quick look at the place before we were officially meant to. The idea being was to see if there was any credibility to the local’s claims about the place.

Well, when my old man drives me onto this so-called hostile no-go scum bag only housing estate I couldn’t believe my eyes. To me it looked like a holiday camp with beautiful lush green lawns; beautiful trees and a lovely kid play area including the sand. Back in London a play area like this one would have been dismantled scrapped for metal value and the sand sold on to a builder or whatever. I compared this place to a housing estate back in South London and this place came out with 15 stars +

So when we started to settle in at our new abode it wasn’t too long before the local criminal fraternity began getting nosy. Word had got round the estate that a cockney wide boy had moved in and they wanted to give me the once over to check me out. They wanted to know all about me and where I’m a tight-lipped fucker they got told in no uncertain terms where to go. I had to laugh at some of these lemons because they seemed to be caught in a time warp. Adorning their heads with Mullet style haircuts was supposed to be the in thing. As was drainpipe jeans with big jackboots to match were to them the height of fashion. But the worse thing about most of them was that they were shy of a bar of soap and allergic to water. Those that suffered from this allergy thought getting soaked in a rainstorm was the equivalent of taking their monthly shower.

There was a bonus about living with locals, who were either inbred or slightly backward, especially where crime and drugs were concerned. For instance they hadn’t a clue about organised crime nor did they have any structure with their law breaking. With them it was all about robbing their own, house break-ins and petty theft. When I first met one of the Island’s top faces who was supposed to be the main man for that particular part of the island. My first impression of him was that he was a shilling short of a pound with an ego the size of a house.

When I think back to those days in the mid eighties, If my then wife had not left London with the kids I would definitely have ended up on a mortuary slab. I suppose there is not many ex husbands who can say that they’re ex wife saved their life. Regardless of our differences later on in life I am still indebted to her for making that decision to move out of London. I understand now she didn’t do it so that I would sort myself out, she done it purely for the kids’ welfare. When she moved to the rock taking the kids I managed to find the strength to get clean off the drugs by going cold turkey. I also realised that a life altering change that was within me was now way overdue showing itself.

I made the tough decision to leave the firm, which meant turning my back on crime to live the life of a normal person. My reason for these all important life changes was simple and that was because I loved my kids more than anything.

Every change I’ve made in my life has had a knock-on effect and me giving up crime and drugs done exactly that. Apart from writing novels and screenplays and of course let’s not forget my blog. Today I find myself helping others such as alcoholics/addicts and criminals to turn their lives around. And I do this, not by giving them advice because me giving advice is not a good thing. I do it purely by sharing my own experiences, strengths and hopes with them. Because of my past, most of my clients relate to me when they first meet me. One thing is for sure and that is they can never say that famous phrase “You don’t understand”

After a couple of years living in my no go, scum bags only three bedroom flat, my anonymity was blown when I got a tug by the police while driving my car. By this time I had not touched a drug but found solace at the bottom of a bottle of booze.

I had been on an all day bender when I stupidly decided to drive the half-mile to my home. One of the red necks had grassed me up to the law, not because they were on an anti-drink and drive campaign. No far from it because the geezer who grassed was a frequent drink driver himself. He had done it because he hated “Overners” (People who are born off the Island) and was jealous of our ways and ideas.

Anyway I fell out of the car when they opened the door to arrest me. The blood sample they took from me came back as having one of the highest readings ever recorded on the island. Of course here in the UK drink driving is a criminal offence and that meant a court appearance. Going through the police process of being charged and assessed for court brought to light my true identity.

Within three days of the incident I got an unexpected visit from a couple of police officers. I recognised both of them from my previous exploits on the rock a few years earlier. I was reminded of the warning given to me back then that if I ever stepped foot on the rock my life would be made hell.

Because I had such a high alcohol reading from my blood sample I could have lost my liberty let alone my driving license. So after getting that visit from the local police I knew they were after putting me back inside. I wouldn’t mind because if that happened I would of only got a couple of months and with our sentencing laws here in the UK I would have been out in two to four weeks. My biggest upset was that they knew where I was now. And from experience I knew that they could set me up on more serious charges if they put their mind to it. In this case if it weren’t for the fact that I had saved a family of six in a house fire a few weeks before I appeared at court I would undoubtedly have gone to prison. Because of my heroics I was banned from driving and given a fine.

Because of my driving ban I decided to get rid of my car. After all there was no point having a car sitting out on the driveway for the next couple of years. We were struggling a bit financially and the money got from my car sale dwindled very quickly.

I started to do a bit of work for a local builder, not much just a few hours here and there. To make ends meet I started to buy and sell a few bits and pieces at auctions. It didn’t make a lot of money but it was enough to get us through. Having three kids at that time was quite expensive to feed and clothe them, so all I earned went straight into the kitty.

It was getting close to Christmas and my then wife who was good with money had already bought little presents for the kids throughout the year. This saved us that last minute run-around trying to find the cash to pay for prezzies.  Not only did she manage to get all the presents, she also got the food and nibbles, the sort of things you have at Xmas time. So we may not have had money but we had a full larder of food and drink to see us over the festive season.

We was also coming up to out wedding anniversary and for that we never really went too crazy. We would stick to a card or a bunch of flowers with a promise of a belated honeymoon once we got flush again with cash. So as you can gather we were skint but we weren’t going to go hungry. The way we saw it, was providing the kids were catered for at Christmas then we were happy. Most of you that are reading this will understand and relate to having hard times financially at the festive period.

On our wedding anniversary (being 23 Rd December), we were to experience something that would change our lives forever. It came right out the blue and was totally unexpected. I was a reformed villain, having no contact or involvement with other criminals nor was I wanting to. However the powers that be decided that was not the case and decided to make my life hell.

It was around six in the morning when I was woken by the nozzle of a sub-machine gun being jammed into the side of my head. A twenty stone police officer complete with body armour was kneeling on my spine screaming at my wife and me. The duvet covers being thrown back exposing my wife’s and I nakedness in front of six armed police officers. My two-year-old son screaming his head off as he witnesses police with their weapons drawn drag his teenage sister from her bed. My ten –year old son petrified by being held to the floor by two burly coppers.

I’m going to leave it their guys and next week is the name and shame time for the Hampshire Police Constabulary.

So don’t miss it !!

Ta la for now


Johnny Mack – The Betrayal Conclusion

Well guys after my health scare it’s been decided by the powers that be that I’m back to write the conclusion of “Betrayal.”

If you missed Johnny Mack’s London Boy blog last week click: The Betrayal Part 2 

London Boy Johnny Mack was betrayed by what he considered at the time a freind, the worst kind of betrayal, wether criminal or otherwise


So there I was driving back to London in a stolen Volvo with thoughts of Nigel firmly planted in my mind. I just couldn’t fathom the geezer out for grassing me up for the snide notes. For fucks sake, I gave him every opportunity to get away from the law when it came on top that night. The fucking idiot never took it, so by the rules laid out in the criminal fraternity he should have taken his collar on the chin. But no the sleazebag decided to save his own skin by giving me up to the law. However the one thing he never took into consideration was me escaping from police custody. If he had taken it on the chin, I doubt he would have even got a custodial sentence. But on that night he showed his true colours by going turncoat.

He had done a deal with them that he would be given bail and a lighter sentence if he gave up my name. Well they did give him bail, but bad news travels pretty quickly especially the news that I had escaped. He knew I was now on my toes looking for him.

Nigel and I had a nice piece of work lined up in the north of England after we had finished our spending spree. I won’t go into details for obvious reasons but seeing he had blown his chance on getting his share from the snide notes.  He now had to do something pretty sharpish to get his hands on some ready cash. So he took a couple of idiots with him and left London and headed up north before I could get my hands on him. He had taken it upon himself to do the bit of work I had lined up. I suppose his thinking was that the proceeds he would have got from it would sort him out. After all he now had me on his heels and in order to keep running he needed dough. I didn’t give it a second thought that he would head up north and do the work.

But Nigel was a bad apple and a scumbag who thought he could just pop up there and pull off the perfect heist without considering the comebacks. How wrong was he with his thinking? When he got to the place and done the heist with his two monkeys in tow, he wasn’t to know what the future had in store for him. Yeah he pulled it off all right and got the prize, but when it came to shifting the goods he came completely unstuck. The saying “What goes round comes round” comes to mind when I think back on it.

He knew the prize could only be moved through selected people (Fences) as we called them. Those of you that don’t know what a fence is; it’s a person who buys stolen goods. But it depends on what the goods are and in this case the fence had to be of the kind that only specialised in these types of goods. There were not many fences out there that could handle the goods in question, so Nigel was limited to whom he could go to.

As I have said before, since I was a kid I had been brought up and taken under the wing of some of London’s most infamous gangsters. My respect level was very high, so therefore I was considered a trusted good-fella. However Nigel was not, his only claim to fame was in knowing me and had no idea on how the criminal fraternity operated.

So there he was with a trunk load of expensive merchandise and all he had to do was sell it on. Sounds like an easy thing to do and it is providing you knew what you were doing. However in Nigel’s case he knew fuck all, let alone know who to take it to. I had picked up this bit of work from a reputable fence via the office and he had arranged to take it all off my hands as soon as I obtained it. Nigel had no idea who my fence was because that type of information was strictly on a need to know basis. Nigel had only used two-bit fences before coming on board with me. They were the type that would go to other bigger fences to shift any gear that come their way. These two-bit fences would usually fleece their suppliers who brought them their wares. Then in return, the more experienced fence would then fleece them; it was like a bloody merry-go round. Where with me, I had respect and that entitled me to a direct route to the top fences who would never dream of ripping me off. If they did then they were playing with fire because my connections were with top people. They would not only lose their reputation, they would also never work again it was as simple as that. I had learned a lot since I was that kid who got ripped off over those diamonds and from there on I made sure no one would ever do that to me again.

Anyway getting back to Nigel, off he goes to one of these two-bit fences with the proceeds from my bit of work. Now I can imagine the face of the fence when Nigel drops this gear in his lap. His eyes must have lit up like the Christmas lights at London’s Regent Street. Oh yes he took the gear off him all right but he also took him for a mug. He agreed a price with Nigel and told him to come back the following day for payment. Apart from being desperate for money, Nigel had no idea how much the gear was really worth. That sort of info stayed strictly with me, I never ever shared anything like that with him. In the meantime the two-bit fence takes the haul to another who just happened to be the fence that had originally lined up the heist. How uncanny was that for Nigel to bring the gear to a fence, who then takes it to the geezer who had originally set the work up for me. They say the world is a small place, but in the criminal fraternity it’s even smaller. So my fence contacts me straightaway when Nigel’s fence brings the gear to him to sell it on. After getting over the shock of knowing that Nigel had gone and done my bit of work, I wanted revenge.

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When I popped in to see him the gear was laid out on the table. I was bloody livid and wanted nothing more than Nigel’s head on a pike. My first thoughts were it was bad enough for Nigel to grass me up. But then to add insult to injury he goes up north and does the work I had lined up for us both.

With the co-operation of Nigel’s fence and my own, it was decided we set a trap for our Nigel because he needed to be taught a lesson. No one in the criminal fraternity liked a villain who double-crossed one of his own. That was bad enough, but in Nigel’s case he was a grass as well and grasses deserve their karma. So the plan was I would be plotted up in the rear of the shop of Nigel’s fence to wait for him.

Nigel came strolling in expecting to be weighed off but instead he had a mighty shock waiting for him. The fence pretended everything was okay and asked Nigel to come through to the back. Now before I go any further this gear was worth three times more than what Nigel was asking for it. As the fence was counting the money out he asked Nigel how he come by the gear. I was out of sight in the next room but I could hear every word said. Of course the fence knew it was stolen but when your doing business with a fence that you trust, you mark his card on where it came from. Just so the geezer doesn’t try and re-sell it near to where it came from. Sometimes a fence would have to hang on to some things for a while because it may be way too hot to move on straight away. For that reason my gear that Nigel had stolen was originally destined for Europe for re-sell. So he pissed off his fence for telling him a load of porky’s that the goods wouldn’t be missed for three months. Nigel was now making enemies with everyone he was doing business with. He was breaking every moral code in the criminal fraternity’s rulebook. Old school gangsters never robbed houses, working class people, or come to that any civilians. However, they would often withdraw money from banks without having an account. Also the odd armoured truck would get hit or a pay roll would go adrift, but they would never hurt an old lady or mug someone. Those types of criminals were considered scumbags who never warranted respect from the old school fraternity. They hated drug dealers, rapists and nonce’s and dealt with them severely. Even the police would turn a blind eye when it came to one or all of them getting their just deserts.

Just as the fence put the last fifty pound note into Nigel’s hand I appeared from the next room and was now standing right behind him. For a minute he had no idea I was there, that was until I made a grunted noise. He quickly turned and our eyes met; the look of fear was written all over his face. It went from that cocky ‘’Look at me, I’m a tough guy to the look of someone who was about to meet his maker”

With the cash still in his hand, he froze and in doing so I stepped forward and took hold of the money handing it back to the fence. He realised then that the fence was in on the trap and tried to speak. But no words were coming from his now opened mouth, a fine example of being gob smacked.

I nodded to the fence to leave the room and once he closed the door behind him I told Nigel to take a seat. His eyes were now looking at my jacket, I suppose he thought I was armed and was about to blow his head off. But what he did not know was that my fence had been parked up outside the shop and watched Nigel arrive and park up in his car before entering the shop. Let’s just say that some of the less expensive stolen merchandise had found its way into the trunk of Nigel’s car.

I said to Nigel “Why?” He broke eye contact with me and looked down towards the floor and shrugged his shoulders like a scolded schoolboy.

You see I could have done what I liked with him at that moment in time and nobody would have been none the wiser. He had made enemies with the two fences as well as me and they wanted some sort of payback. But I was Godfather to his kid; I liked his mother and had got friendly with his family. I am not what some people have claimed, a cold bloodied individual. I was back in the day what I call a fair geezer but only to a degree. Anyway he had done the work up north for me and I was about to get the full whack from my fence. Plus I still had his share from the notes, but saying that I was now on the run all because of him, so he had to get some form of payback.

This was why goods were planted in his car and he was about to get a nasty shock which would make him regret ever fucking me over.

As he sat opposite me he looked like a pathetic piece of crap, his cocky attitude was history and the begging started. It was all ‘’I’m sorry mate, I’m sorry, I’m sorry” To his disbelief I said okay Nigel now fuck off!

He couldn’t believe what I was saying and just sat there frozen to the chair, I repeated myself and said loudly “Fuck off…now!” His feet didn’t touch the ground as he flew out of that shop.

Cut to the chase I heard a few weeks later that he was on remand in a northern prison for the heist he had pulled off up there. He also had the snide notes to answer for as well. I stayed on the run for another year and eventually got caught after a police chase and ended up cornered on top of a roof of flats.

However, while I was serving my sentence in Winchester prison an old acquaintance of mine got shipped in from a northern prison. It was him that told me that Nigel was serving two terms of five years; luckily for him both sentences were to run concurrent.

What happened to me I hear you ask? Well I only got two years for the snide notes and to be honest I needed the rest.


My next blog instalment will be a classic, so be sure to keep your eye on this page.

Until then, take care guys.



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Johnny Mack’s Second talk To London Boy Subscribers


Johnny Mack talks once again to London Boy British Gangster Movie fans, in his own inimitable way….

London Boy the making of a UK  gangster movie

Hi guys
First of all, I would like to express my thanks to all of you who read last week’s blog. Especially those of you who had not yet read my autobiography ‘Dunpeckham’
Your positive feedback has been fantastic and above all inspirational, not only for me but also to the rest of the team.
While giving thanks to you guys, I would also like to mention and thank the London Boy team. Without them and their dedication to the London Boy project none of this would be possible. So a big thank you goes out to Christopher Evans our Marketing/Sales director and David Gwilym our graphic designer.

Having staunch people working with you is a blessing in disguise, especially when trying to get a massive project off the ground such as London Boy.
As Chris mentioned in an article he wrote last week about some of us, who have in the past fell foul of the law. What Chris expressed was so true to form because if you are writing a book, or making a film about crime, gangsters and the like, who better to do it than an ex-gangsters?

As most of you know who have read “Dunpeckham”, as a gangster I was never caught bang to rights whilst doing heavy pieces of work. Squealers and snakes were responsible for most of my arrests. Also I am gutted to say, a few good friends of mine at that time grassed me up in the hope that they would get a lighter sentence. However, without blowing my own trumpet, I was pretty shrewd back in the day and never got convicted on all the serious charges I was arrested for.

The main reason most of them turned grass was because of hard drugs. Up until 1978 the only drugs that were about were cannabis, amphetamines and LSD. Hard drugs like heroin and cocaine were about, but no way in a capacity as they are today. I was not a drug taker at that time, my problem started in the early 80’s and only lasted 2 years.

I got hooked on heroin whilst I was on remand in Brixton prison on a trumped up charge of armed robbery and another one for attempted murder. I was innocent of both charges and the police knew it. But back then the police had a lot of lee-way with the courts and could easily take you off the street, arrest and charge you with a serious charge with little evidence required to do so. They’d keep you banged up in the police station for 3 days and refuse you your right to a phone call and access to a solicitor. They would then take you to the magistrates court, claim to the court that they were awaiting forensic evidence and ask the court to refuse you bail. Their favourite excuse to keep you locked up was because you were a danger to the public and more than likely to abscond. Their next move was to get a moody witness, usually a drug addict, tell the court as much and then commit you to crown court.

Now, this is where it got naughty because once they got you committed to crown court, your waiting time to have your case heard for trail was at least 14-18 months. Take into account 2 months prior to your committal that makes around 20 months banged up in a cell with 2-3 other un-convicted prisoners for 23 hours per day. All this time you are protesting your innocence to MP’s etc , but the truth was no one would bothered to listen. This is what we in the criminal fraternity would call a ‘Lay down’, or to the old bill you were on holiday in one of her majesty’s holiday camps.

The day before, or on the day of your trail date, the police would simply tell the court that their evidence had been contaminated, or the witness has disappeared etc. Therefore no trail would even take place. So there you are at the court, your told that there is insufficient evidence and now you were free to go…No apologies, no compensation, in fact you got fuck all from those lying old bill or the court.

It was all about getting you off the streets whether you were at it or not. The ‘Sweeney’, which was London’s robbery squad, were the worse corrupt police unit I have ever come across. They would get information from other criminals and make a secret dossier on you. The more info they got the thicker your file became. Mine was about six inches thick the last time I saw it and it contained all hear say fabricated rubbish. For instance, someone might get nicked for a minor thing and just to keep the old bill happy and get a good word put to the judges ear, they would tell what they heard on the grapevine. The truth was, most made it all up just so they got a better chance of getting off at court. So there I’d be at home with my family minding my own business. Not having had any convictions in years, when our front door would suddenly get caved in by police waving their machine guns around in front of my young children. Their party trick was to get you at dawn, drag you out of bed, all the time screaming at you like madmen, which petrified my young children.

Then that would be the last I’d see my home for the next two years because as I’ve said there was no evidence just hearsay. The police force have tightened their belts in the ranks today; out have gone most of the corrupt old bill, but there are still a few lurking about, that’s for sure!

Tune in for next weeks blog where I’ll tell you about the diamond heist I was involved in aged just fourteen.

Ta ta for now guys and thanks again….

Johnny Mack

An Opening Word From Johnny Mack

If you want to follow the making of this movie, than… Read This! Here Johnny  Mack talks of his life, his work thus far and his hopes for this movie. He does so in his own unique way, The subject matter is often dark, but his honesty is so brave, I challenge you not to like this man. His humanity seeps from each word and it is THIS YOU WILL RELATE TO……


The autobiographical book of the film London Boy

The best selling book that London Boy the feature film is based. Buy it and see why

Johnny Mack on London Boy & Life

When I look back over my life and how it has panned out. I still find it hard to comprehend that it
was what others have said, ’A roller coaster ride; destination, self-destruction.” Sure, I agree it has been exciting, wild, hectic with lots of fun. Yet there has also been a lot of pain, sadness and suffering…a high price had to be paid to be where I am today. I have never thought of my life as being self-destructive. As crazy as it sounds, up to the age of ten, I thought getting the shit kicked  out of me was normal. Up to the age of 10 my thoughts were more in line with a pacifist’s way of thought. I did my best to avoid getting involved with violence, arguments and confrontation. But for reasons which I did not understand at that age, I became a target for racist bullies and gangs.

I am an only child to an Irish mother and an English father. Being a Catholic our family was the
odd one out because most Catholic families consisted of seven or more children.

Because of mums’ stature, all 4’ 11’’ of her, she had serious problems when she became pregnant. I had no  idea of the dangers that mum faced when she tried to give me a brother or sister. She knew I  was lonely and desperate for company because I would ask her why was it I never had siblings?

Mum miscarried twice and on the last occasion she actually died for a few minutes while on
the operating table.

I can remember it being a Sunday morning when I entered the living room to find mum flat
out on the sofa looking really unwell. I had no idea that she was pregnant and she fobbed
me off with a line that she had a bad case of the flu. I suppose she kept it from me this
time because she had made the mistake of telling me of her previous pregnancy. Sadly I remember my hopes and dreams being dashed in an instance when she lost it. Her trying to explain to me that God had decided to take my unborn brother to heaven to become an angel was hard to understand. I suppose she decided to keep her second pregnancy quiet from me because she did not want a repeat performance of me getting hurt again.

So I grew up as an only child and where my mother had now lost two kids she became very
protective and controlling. Looking back I can see that she was only trying to do her best to
protect me from the dangers of the outside world. It got so bad that I couldn’t even take a piss
without her asking me what I was doing. She sent me to schools that were out of the way from the  area I lived. She thought by doing this I would not be able to associate with the local kids who  she thought were a bad influence on me.

My father who always worked away from home, would only come home once a month and that was just for the weekend. So I never got to have a lot of “me” time with him. When he was home he would take mum out in the evening and go to the pub at lunchtime for a session. Which meant I had little contact with him throughout my childhood.

Though I had good parents, my upbringing was a very strict one, mainly influenced by my
domineering mother. Because she was Irish, she and I had more than our fair share of racial abuse back then. She got it in the work place and I got it at the schools and from the local gangs on the housing estate we lived on. But mum was a tough cookie and never stood for it and on many occasions I’d see her kicking the shit out of her racial abusers. There was one occasion that sticks with me and that was when I saw her knock out a large, frumpy, obnoxious racist of a woman with a tin of carrots and beat seven bells out her husband with a leg of lamb. But it was different for me because as I said I was a weak meek kid and could not defend myself. I was scared of fireworks, the dark and even my own shadow. This weakness was picked up on by the local kids and I would get beatings on a daily basis, both at school and on the housing estate. Each time I’d come home with a black eye, bloodied nose or worse still my clothes all ripped up, she’d go berserk. Just as my father did, my mother would send me back out to fight the bullies. No matter how scared I was, my choices were limited. Either I got a beating indoors for being a wimp, or sent out to get another kicking from the gang. The whole situation made me feel I was in a catch 22 situation, either way I lost.

That was until I was ten years of age, when my neighbour Tony Bainbridge stepped in to help stop what was happening to me. Tony was an all time gangster; he was married to South London crime boss Charlie Richardson’s daughter. On many occasions’ he’d witness me come home after getting the shit kicked out of me. Then watch me being pushed out of the door to go back out to face my attackers…and yes, get another kicking. He showed me the way of overcoming my problems by introducing me to a length of 4×2 timber. His instructions were quite simple really…plot up and wait for the gang leader, then jump out from behind and give the fucker a good hiding. I can remember being petrified waiting for this much older kid to pass by my hiding place. Because I hated violence, I found that what I was about to do was wrong and unforgiving. But what choice did I have? The violence I endured daily year after year had to stop; I wanted my mum and dad’s respect, instead of them being embarrassed of me. Before this bully was due to walk by my hiding place all these thoughts were whizzing through me. I felt for the first time, that adrenalin rush we go through when we face our demons. Then I felt for the first time pure rage, it was a manic feeling of being totally out of control. Within seconds of this bully passing me, I saw my life flash before my eyes. The beatings, the racial abuse in fact every negative thing I had been through flashed before my eyes in an instance.

I can’t really remember what happened when I jumped out of my hiding place and attacked the gang leader. What I do remember clearly, is me standing over this kid with the 4×2 broken in two, with him lying unconscious smothered in blood.  From that day on my life changed to a level that I did not quite understand.

Tony, who was now my mentor, told me that what I was feeling was the receiver of respect. Even at that age those words made a lot of sense to me. It became a fact that after that incident with the gang leader all the other kid’s attitudes changed towards me. The shoe was now on the other foot because there were no more beatings, no more racial abuse; everything stopped all at once. Within a year I was leader of more than one gang and the word respect became my controller. My attitude changed, not for the better, but for the worse and I became worse than my bullies.

Aged thirteen my apprenticeship began in the criminal fraternity and my teacher was Tony Bainbridge. I started off as a bookies runner and then upped in the ranks to do more important stuff. At fourteen I got involved in the theft of a load of uncut diamonds, today they would be worth millions. That little escapade put me right up the top in the respect ranks.

That’s how my life as a gangster started; it wasn’t long before it became a way of life. The keyword to my introduction into the criminal fraternity was the all-familiar word I first heard from Tony…respect!

It became like a drug to me and no matter what, I had to do to keep it. I could not afford to lose it.  Respect was my master now and if I lost it, well, I might as well be dead.

For those of you who have read my work, you know the rest of my roller coaster ride through life. I had no idea when I wrote the first part of my autobiography that it would get worldwide attention. My life today is totally different than what it was like back in the early eighties. It was then that I finally woke up and smelt the bacon. I lost so much during that transition period, that at times I believed I deserved it because it was my karma.

Going straight has not been a bowl of cherries either; again I lost everything, including my 33 year marriage to the love of my life. The house went shortly after, so did the construction company I had built up over the years. If that wasn’t enough payback, I then got cancer and was given 6 months to live. But hey, I’m a stubborn bastard and I am still here today.

Slowly my life has begun to improve and I now know that this improvement of life is all down to me  writing my first book “Dunpeckham”. Honesty was the key to making “Dunpeckham” a hit. There has never been a book written where the author has written a no holds barred account of life as a gangster. I wrote about the low times as well as the high times. But believe me when I say that the low times outweighed the high times by ten fold. What gangster says he became addicted to  heroin, cocaine and alcohol? What gangster leaves his ego at the door before sitting down to write about his life? And what gangster tells you that he was a failure as a husband and father? Yes, I came clean and told the truth, because ego no longer had a place in my life.

In 2009 I got in contact with award winning director Lee Hutcheon to ask him some advice about a possible film being made. My long standing best pal John Pettigrew recommended Lee to me. John and I grew up together and mixed with each other on the streets of Peckham, so I trusted him. When he told me about Lee, what I liked was the fact that Lee was very streetwise and understood where I came from. That meant he understood every word I put down on paper and above all he respected my honesty. By then Lee was at the height of his career as a world acclaimed award-winning director. He really took to “Dunpeckham” in a big way, so we discussed ways of getting it adapted on to the big screen.

This was at the height of the recession, which affected the movie business in a big way. Money was shortcoming from investors and the like, so Lee came up with a brilliant idea. Lee put together a proposal and approached Sky One TV, they were dead keen to make a six part TV drama series. What we did not take into account was that Sky wanted to do a string of crime dramas. I was only halfway through writing ‘’Landed on the Moon’’ part two of my autobiography and it would take another 2 -3 months to complete. However, Sky really needed a crime writer who had more work to offer and with me only having one and half books to date, they reluctantly declined. They went with Martina Cole the Queen of crime writers, who had accumulated a number of already published novels. Sky said that our genres were very similar but the difference between us was that my work was non-fiction and her work was fiction. They had set out to use a true-life story line, but they soon realised that would be an impossible task. Martina went on to make a mint with her adaptation of ‘The Take.’ For me just getting my work on the table of Sky One gave me just enough encouragement, which I desperately needed
to keep on writing. Lee reminded me that there is a market out there for my work and told me to keep going. He also said that getting the attention of Sky was on its own a great achievement.

Since then I finished ‘Landed on the Moon’ and wrote ‘Memoirs of a Hitman.’ However, I wanted to write Memoirs with a double plot to give it an explosive storyline. But I had been just diagnosed with cancer and had no choice but to condense it down and get it published before I snuffed it. But as I’ve already mentioned I’m a stubborn sod and refused to lay down, curl up and die. Memoirs’ is a brilliant crime novel based on experiences I had been through during my life as a gangster. The good thing is, I have left it open for the return of the characters and now my intention is to write a trilogy. But before that can happen, I have to finish ‘My Eldorado’ which is a fact based crime story. This novel will be the make or break for me in the literary world. I have now created a unique genre, which has been a massive challenge. I had to get out of writing the Johnny Mack way, if my work was to appeal to a larger audience of avid readers of crime fiction. By writing ‘My Eldorado’ I believe I have done just that.

Since the Sky episode, I would soon learn that there were more crooks in the movie business than there are in the criminal fraternity. I remember Lee warning me of such people way back in 2009. But when someone comes along and promises you the world, because they say your work is great and it has the potential to get on the big screen, you tend to believe them. I have had loads of tossers’ come by my way, all with false promises of a movie deal. The last one sounded so convincing that I contacted Lee who I wanted to direct my life story. Right up to five days before all three of us were to meet up things looked rosy. She told me that she had acquired a few million from investors and now we were ready to fly up to Scotland to meet
up with Lee to discuss the movie. The last I heard from the lying bitch (sorry it still angers me) was that she was getting the plane tickets. Can you imagine, I now had to tell Lee I had a shitzer as a partner and I wouldn’t be coming? However, Lee was not letting some lying, trumped up has been put us off making this movie.

During the interim years I had been to the US to do a bit of script work and it was while I was there I met a few investors. As they say in this business, acquire as many telephone contacts as possible, especially if the connection is involved in investment. I flew to the states and had meetings with a few of these investors and after I had explained the concept of “Dunpeckham” and what potential it would have as a movie, I got their attention.

I came away from that meeting dancing like Fred Astaire with promises of $5000,000 from three solid investors.

That was when Lee and I really got to grips with this fantastic project. He suggested we write the
script together, which for me was a mega challenge. I had only ever written bit parts in a pilot TV series and a feature film. Now thanks to Lee, I have this fantastic opportunity to be present at the start and be involved all the way through the process of making a movie.

This for me has been long in the coming, but I have always known that “Dunpeckham” would make a great British gangster movie. It may be filmed in London, England, but its potential warrants global viewing. London Boy will not just be the standard run of the mill gangster movie. It goes far deeper than ‘bang, bang give us the money?’ This one goes much deeper,
it examines the affects my life as a gangster had on my family and others. It will show the viewer the aftermath of what a gangster’s life can leave behind. It tells a story which highlights the shit times more so than the good times. There is a message in amongst this story that will definitely help others who are thinking of taking up a life of crime, stop and think again.

So London Boy will hit the screens and adjust the standard just like ‘Lock Stock’ did. A new and never tried before action film, that will dazzle the film world and delight audiences, with that “something new”, difference that they are anxiously waiting for.

I’ll keep you posted

Johnny Mack


Memoirs of a Hitman. The murderous story of a lone hitman caught up in London's gangland while it feuds with each other. Another great book by Johnny Mack

Memoirs of a Hitman. The murderous story of a lone hit man caught up in London’s gangland while it feuds with each other. Another great book by Johnny Mack

London Boy The Story So Far

Dunpeckham Johnny Mack Auotobiography

“Dunpeckham” The auotobiography of Johnny Mack that this feature film is based upom

This web-site is unique in that it takes you from the very beginning of one man’s idea to write his autobiography that depicts a life a crime, to post publication where it describes step by step, stage by stage how this book is eventually created into a feature-length film – “London Boy”, This has never been done before either on or off-line. We actively seek to promote our visitors to freely subscribe to the “making of” our film “London Boy” and literally engage within the process and resulting conversation that will surround and become a key part of the making of the film itself.  So this website’s target audience is both vast and extremely varied. By describing this story in the unique manner described above, it will appeal not only to fans of the true crime film genre itself, but to film enthusiasts of all descriptions. As this site grows with the film’s ensuing real-time story, it will discuss all aspects of film making from script writing, to a plethora of production techniques, such as; cinematography, shooting techniques, camera selection, location selection, film crew organisation and management, logistics etc. Plus of course all aspects of film direction such as casting, managing actors, directing cinematographers, directing crew members and a lot more. So there will be something for everyone who finds films and filming of interest.

London Boy is a collaboration film project between author Johnny Mack and film producer/director lee Hutcheon.  The movie is based upon Johnny’s first autobiography “Dunpeckham”. It’s a gripping tale, a truly human story, of one man’s struggle to exit a life of poverty in South London by any means necessary. The film depicts Johnny’s childhood where he discovers his talent for boxing and then takes you upon a journey of an initial criminal apprenticeship, to eventual full-blown villain. This criminal career includes illegal drinking clubs, unlicensed boxing, armed robbery and ultimately the British gangster lifestyle, it’s mentality and importantly the fully paid up members of this elite, underworld class. The “Faces” or “Chaps” as they are often referred to as.

The key parts to this story and what makes it  totally unique to others within it’s genre, is it’s unflinching, often brutal honesty, the non glorification of crime or the criminal lifestyle and Johnny’s extremely funny, but often dark depiction of his past criminal past.